


Safety

by boredrandom



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 18:45:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1398547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boredrandom/pseuds/boredrandom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr Anon Prompt: Miranda feels safer when Andy is around. You can put it in random situations if you want to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safety

Miranda never cared for having her assistants in her personal space. Granted, that extended to most people, with their poor excuses for clothing, colognes, and conversation. However, Miranda had total say over the closeness of the general populous. She did not have that same control over her assistants and there presence. Unless, of course, she wanted to take her own notes and carry her own packages, but what was the point of becoming Queen if she were left to partake in such manual labor? Miranda expected her employees' complete and competent assistance; that did not mean she liked having them close. For they always radiated a potent air of nervous energy and it drove Miranda to distraction. Crisis Mode in the work place was an extremely effective tool, ensuring nothing but the best from her employees. But it appeared that her assistants lived with that energy, never really letting it go. Therefore, Miranda almost drowned in it every time one of them stepped into her car. While it did nothing for her peace of mind she supposed it was a small price to pay for remaining The Best of the best.

At one point, Miranda had begun to make a game of the whole thing. She would count the seconds, guessing how long her assistant could their breath. The fear of of breathing too loud in Miranda's presence had one girl hold her's for fifty-eight seconds; a record.

Sometimes Miranda would count how long it them to start fidgeting under the silence. It amazed Miranda how many people experienced discomfort in quiet. And since her assistants knew better than to engage her in conversation, they would restlessly shift in their seats. This movement usually began shortly after they decided holding their breath was not in their best interest (seeing how most people breathe louder after such an exercise).

It did not take long for Miranda to tire of such games. Two trips in the town car was usually more than enough to annoy her. Her focus would then be completely moved to the scene passing beyond the windows. Great inspiration could be found in the masses of poorly dressed, over-worked, and rushed people that made up New York City. As her eyes roamed the streets, pulling ideas from the world around her, Miranda would engage in breathing exercises to keep the assistant's anxiety at bay.

Miranda had taken a great risk by hiring Andréa Sachs as her newest second assistant and the girl had proven herself different in a number of ways. Take her behavior in Miranda's town car, for instance. Andréa would enter the car, making sure her notepad and pen where in easy reach, and then she was still for the remainder of the drive. For someone who seemed to fidget endlessly when standing, she never moved around in car. And Andréa did not attempt to hold her breath in Miranda's presence. She breathed freely, never trying to be quieter than usual.

Miranda found her breathing techniques were still useful with Andréa, as there was an air of nervousness that surrounded the girl. It wasn't as potent as Emily's (or any of her previous assistants for that matter) because it was lacking the edge of anxiety and fear. Miranda had fought with herself, briefly, about instilling some fear in the girl, but the respect was there and her work was not lacking. In the long run, Miranda decided against it.

Andrea did exceptional work and, once her outward appearance was no longer an embarrassment to Runway, she began accompanying Miranda to all of her meetings. Andréa had become Miranda's newest accessory and any business function that needed notes of any kind found the girl one step behind her. The girl took notes like the journalist she wished to become. They were always complete, detailed, and organized. And she managed to have them prioritized the same way Miranda would have. This made Miranda's work that much easier, even if Andréa would never hear her boss' gratitude.

One month into this acceptable arrangement something shifted. The ridiculous fools in the Fashion Industry had put Miranda in a foul mood. Which, despite what most of the world believed, was a rare occurrence. The last meeting, with a new talent, had gone horribly. Miranda was doubtful the next meeting would turn out any better, seeing how this designer had been trying her nerves for months now. Andréa's slow and careful steps behind her were only worsening her mood. Honestly, it should not take this long for someone to get into a car.

This past week had been nothing but disappointment after disappointment. Miranda was beginning to question her abilities at spotting new and worthwhile talent. Not that the established designers were offering anything better. Had the world of fashion lost it's art? This would be just another waste of time. Different designer; same uncreative garb being passed off as clothing.

By time the Andréa was seated and Roy pulled away from the curb Miranda had the beginnings of a headache. Actually the causing her own anxiety (another rare occurrence) lead Miranda to start her breathing exercise in hopes of calming herself down and keeping Andréa nervousness at bay.

One deep, four second breath through the nose. She held it for a moment, then released it, slowly, through her mouth, ensuring it lasted for a count of seven. Miranda managed to do this twice before she was distracted by the sound of her assistant sighing.

Miranda's eyes moved to her assistant, but her face and body appeared to be focused elsewhere. The sound had been relaxed, almost content. Andréa kept her face to the window, but Miranda could see the small smile that appeared. Wanting to see the cause (because people do not randomly smile, or sigh, in her presence) Miranda scanned the scene beyond the window. What she found was a small girl, maybe the same age as her daughters, smiling at a man in a ridiculous suit three sizes too big (with too many colors) as he pulled and twisted a long balloon. Roy turned a corner before the creation took full shape.

Miranda turned her eyes back to her own window. When the twins were seven, the family had gone to Disney Land for a week long vacation. It was a last ditch effort to save a broken marriage, to rebuild a family. She was pleased the girls had thoroughly enjoyed themselves. Cassidy had fell in love with the balloon animals and spent weeks afterward learning how to make puppies, giraffes, and butterflies (to name a few). Caroline, on the other hand, took great pleasure in finding new and creative ways to pop them.

Suddenly, Miranda realized she was smiling and forced her face into Ice Queen mode. Daydreaming? In the car? With an assistant present? It was unheard of and made Miranda immediately uneasy. In an attempt to right her equilibrium, Miranda began to list off a number of things that needed to be taken care of; although, none were urgent enough to warrant this tirade. Andréa must have realized this as well because she did not move into Crisis Mode. She was however, nodding, taking notes, and saying "Yes, Miranda" at all the right times.

Andréa's "Yes, Miranda" always came at the right times. She knew when to speak and when to remain quiet. She had even begun to have things ready and waiting before Miranda had a chance to request them. Her attentive nature started putting Miranda on edge. At times if felt as if Andréa was trying to memorize her, there was such curiosity behind her eyes. All the while doing her job almost perfectly with that spritely smile. A smile Miranda was learning could be disarming in it's calming effects. The ease Miranda felt around her assistant was new and slightly confounding. As time passed Miranda found herself growing used to both Andréa and her smile. She easily written it off as tolerance, telling herself that was merely ignoring it. However, what happened next forced Miranda to acknowledge the truth.

Miranda and her assistant were standing in the lobby of James Holt's studio, waiting for the elevator. They were twenty minutes early and Miranda had high hopes for James' collection. The idea was brilliant and Miranda was excited for the results. That is, if she'd ever get to see the results. This elevator was terribly slow and despite Miranda's many comments, James did not appear to be the market for a new one.

When it finally arrived Miranda entered and the air around her shifted slightly, causing her to eye her assistant. Every thought in Andréa's head was clearly written on her face; and her eyes grew bigger as Miranda read them. Andréa knew waiting for the elevator to come back down would try Miranda's patience, of which she had little left. She also knew James' studio was on the sixth floor and debated whether or not she'd be able to move fast enough, taking the stairs, in her four inch heels.

As Miranda watched her assistant begin to panic she wondered if the girl knew how transparent she was. Miranda had made a decision. She was not conscious of how she had came to it but she knew that, once stated, it would relieve the girls initial panic while simultaneously causing more. Her head tilted, ever so slightly; an invitation. Well, not a true invitation. It was more of a why-aren't-you-in-the-this-elevator-already type of movement. Andréa, who was becoming strangely proficient in Miranda!Speak, wasted no time stepping in the tiny grey box with her boss.

Miranda could feel Andréa's confusion. And … her nervousness. Who wouldn't be nervous in an elevator with Miranda? Still, it had been so long that Miranda assumed the girl was beyond it. Miranda was beginning to think she'd need to fall back on her breathing techniques when the presence beside her shifted. Miranda's eyes, hidden by Gucci, followed the movement as Andréa released a huge, silent breath. Her shoulders slumped, as if in surrender, and she closed her eyes for half a second. When they opened, Andréa turned to Miranda. She would have been looking directly into pale blue eyes if it were not for the sunglasses.

Miranda was surprised by what she saw. There was acceptance, eagerness, confidence, and trust. All of it directed at Miranda. It was sincere and Miranda couldn't figure out why it was there or why she was being offered it. Nor could she reconcile it's occurrence with the loosening of her own shoulders followed by the tightness being removed from her jaw and slowing of her breathing.

Miranda's head swiveled forward. "Must everyone be privy to your intake of air?" Miranda's voice was cold as she snapped, but there was something laced on the edges. Something Andréa heard, if the nod and smirk Miranda saw reflected back at her through the grey metal doors meant anything.

The rest of the work week had gone smoothly; it was more productive than Miranda could have imagined even if the product was not yet perfect. She could not say the same about her home life. Stephen had begun to intrude on her time with her daughters, breaking the peace with his complaints. They'd had this conversation a number of times and Miranda was losing her patience. They had dated for almost a year before they married and Miranda was always honest and straight forward with him. He swore he could handle it; swore he wouldn't try to change her. Now, he no longer cared for her as she was and his very presence put her guard up.

He waited until the children were asleep; Miranda was sure this was to keep away any distractions. For twenty minutes now, he had repeated himself at least three times. And Miranda had apologized, once. She refused to follow his example and begin sounding like a parrot. Honestly, there was only so many ways one could say the same thing. Did he truly want her to skip out on a meeting with the Board so he could have someone to dine with? At least he had been informed she would be missing dinner. Andréa made the call as soon as it was known the meeting was going to run over. Clearly that wasn't good enough.

Nothing she did seemed good enough for the man in front of her. She wondered if he even cared that she was tired of this; that this relationship seemed to have nothing left to hold it together. She was defensive, angry, and tightly wound like a cobra ready to strike. But he ignored it, intent on whining.

Miranda was about to request, for the third time, that he lower is voice; she didn't want this to wake up her daughters. Instead, she found herself focusing on the sound of the front door opening and closing and the change in the air that accompanied it. The shift reminded Miranda it was Andréa's first night delivering the Book. When footsteps were followed by silence, Miranda assumed Andréa was standing there trying to figure out which table and which closet she should be depositing the items. Emily was an acceptable first assistant; however, her training and teaching skills left much to be desired. Emily spent more time ensuring she was the seen as the 'best' assistant than making sure the job was done correctly.

Miranda was listening to her husband with one ear; the other was listening to Cassidy and Andréa whisper at the bottom of the stairs. She could not make out what they were saying and that should have concerned her. She only heard Cassidy's voice, but she knew Caroline was standing right beside her. They should have been asleep hours ago.

Miranda couldn't be mad at her twins, so she attempted to place blame on Andréa. She failed. How often had Miranda asked her assistants to do impossible, non-work related things to please her twins? Andréa would do anything she could to please Miranda, including an attempt at calling the National Guard. By extension, Miranda figured, Andréa would attempt to appease the twins by continuing the conversation. Andréa was innocent in this.

"Are you even listening to me?" Stephen demanded, confusion written all over his face. Her whole body had relaxed, she no longer felt as if she were in the middle of an argument. The impossible calmness she was feeling was so obvious that even Stephen noticed.

"How could I not? At this volume the entire neighborhood can hear you." The moment the quiet and calm words left her mouth Miranda realized her anger had almost completely vanished and she was left with the feeling that everything would be fine. Of course, it wouldn't. Her marriage was in shambles and would most likely be ending soon, but she felt at peace nonetheless.

Miranda was so wrapped up in what she wasn't feeling she hadn't heard the footsteps on the stairs. But Andréa's presence increased and Miranda instinctually turned, seeking the cause. She fell into round, open, brown eyes radiating the ever present respect, trust, adoration, and eagerness. The surprise that covered Miranda's face was genuine. Surely, Emily had informed the girl she was not to take a step past the closet for the dry cleaning.

Andréa's appearance had stopped Stephen in the middle of a sentence Miranda had not heard him start. The younger woman looked to Stephen quickly and returned her eyes to Miranda. She was asking if there was anything she could do, her desire to remove Stephen from the house was clear. It was also clear there was no pity, no judgement. Then again, there was never judgement from Andréa.

Miranda couldn't respond, she was still frozen in disbelief; Andréa's silent question renewing it's strength. Things Miranda had been ignoring, falsifying, and denying became too big to push aside. Everything had clicked into place. Everything from car rides to shared elevators, from Andréa being allowed to overhear phone conversations with Caroline and Cassidy, to Miranda's chattiness in Andréa's presence (if one could call her one-liners chattiness). And most of all it explained her reaction to Andréa in this moment: Miranda felt cared for, protected, safe even, in this girl's presence.

And in that moment, Miranda decided the girl needed to go. She didn't know how much of her decision appeared on her face, but it was enough to send the girl back down the stairs. She was moving carefully backward, eyes never leaving Miranda's, not even when she bent forward and placed the Book at her boss' feet. Andréa bowed her head as the Book landed on the carpet, before turning and almost running to the front door.

The girl had seen too much and Miranda's self-appointed image couldn't handle her seeing much more. Miranda was actually grateful for Andréa's presence, grateful she had stopped Stephen's circular argument. Grateful for the release of tension, for the wave of security. This would not do. Miranda's lack of anger and her desire to call her assistant back (while trusting that she would not tell a soul) could only lead to trouble.

Miranda didn't move until she heard the front door shut. Neither did Stephen. However, the moment the door latched he spoke.

"Miranda." His voice had a quiet defeated quality to it. He didn't continue until she met his glaze. "I'm tired of being the housewife."

She turned, kneeled, and retrieved the Book, "And I refuse to be one." She turned and again faced the man she once thought loved her, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do." She was out of the room and down the hall before he could say another word.

-xxx-xxx-xxx-xxx-xxx-xxx-xxx-xxx-xxx-xxx-xxx-xxx-xxx-

Miranda could not remember the last time she had been this angry. Andréa had just walked out on her job, on her future in publishing, on Miranda Priestly. Miranda wanted to strangle the girl, to yell at her, to make her return; things that were beneath Miranda and her stature. Still, she had tried calling the girl three times and each transfer to voicemail only made her ire grow. Somehow, through the cloud of red behind her eyes, Miranda had managed to inform Nigel he would have the lead on this one; leaving herself free to wallow in her indignation.

She was seated in her usual front row seat, eyes glued to the catwalk and seeing nothing. As long as her eyes stayed fixed on the clothing, her photographic memory would provide all the information she needed for simple interview questions. All the heavier, more detailed questions would fall to Nigel.

Miranda allowed her subconscious to work while she breathed, four seconds for each inhale and seven seconds on the exhale. It took fifteen minutes for Miranda to finally move from enraged to annoyed. Focusing on her breathing for a few minutes longer allowed her to think clearly about what had just transpired. She could admit it was for the best that Andréa ignored her call; Miranda's anger would have only succeeded in making a messy situation much worse. Miranda knew there were no honest take-backs with words.

Miranda's mind settled on the contradiction in her thoughts as a blur of blue passed her eyesight. She was angry, disappointed, and (god forbid) hurt that Andréa just quit. Walking away as if it were nothing. However, Miranda herself had been trying to remove the girl from her post for months, since she first delivered the Book; but the girl really was smart. Andréa had ruined every plan Miranda came up with and jumped over every hurdle placed before her. Miranda was convinced that should have increased her ire but it only increased her respect for the girl. A cold and unforgiving laugh sounded in Miranda's mind. Respecting an assistant. She was losing her mind.

She was indeed losing it. That was the only explanation for what had happened last night. She had bared herself, literally and figuratively, to her assistant. She had been crying for god's sake. The Dragon Lady could not take too much more exposure. Andréa had soaked up everything she saw and heard last night; her desire to hug Miranda caused the older woman to lash out.

When Miranda saw her chance in the car, she took it. Purposely choosing her words for the maximum effect. She never imagined Andréa would quit immediately, without warning and without notice. Miranda assumed she would have the two weeks to prepare herself. Two weeks to soak in the presence she had acknowledged but refused to accept. Two weeks to plan for it's removal. Miranda mentally scoffed. She should have known Andréa would not play by the rules, she never did.

This showing was moving too slowly and it appeared it would never end. She had felt Nigel eyeballing her a number of times, silently seeking her reaction to the clothing. He most likely concluded she was purposely keeping her opinions to herself, forcing him to step up completely. After the third time, he stopped. Miranda continued to her analyze her actions.

There were so many things Miranda could have done differently, that would have saved her from being in this situation. Starting with not hiring the girl in the first place. Or firing her after the Belt Incident. Or after the third time she got the coffee order wrong. She should have fired her after the Miami Incident. Or she should have fired her instead of making that seemingly impossible request for the next Harry Potter novel.

Instead she accepted the smiles that no one else offered and found ways to keep them. She allowed herself to pay attention and become invested in what she saw. She had accepted and anticipated the kindness Andréa selflessly offered. She had gotten wrapped up in the fact that Andréa had truly respected, admired, and trusted her. Miranda was sure that had all changed and she was not ready for it. Not for what it would look like and definitely not for what it meant. She was not ready to return to a Andréa-free _Runway_.

It took three weeks (one spent brooding, one spent planning, and one spent growing a pair) before Miranda was ready to make a change. During her week of planning, Miranda used her position to obtain a copy of Andréa's HR file in search of a home phone number and an address. There was only one way for her to find out if the information was correct, short of calling the number that is, and there was no way she was going to ask Nigel or Emily. It didn't matter that (thanks to an overheard conversations outside of her office) she knew the three of them were still in contact.

Eight days after retrieving the information and three weeks without seeing those cognac brown eyes or the smile that usually accompanied them, Miranda stopped stalling. She sat at her desk, a copy of Andréa's resume centered in front of her, and dialed the number. All she needed to do was hit send. Instead, she sat the phone down and tried to remember the last conversation she had with an adult, who did not live with her, that had nothing to do with work. It had been months. Stephen's demands for more 'family bonding time' had isolated Miranda from the few friendships she had. Between spending quality time with her children, appeasing her husband, and running a magazine, Miranda had no time for anything else.

As her mind supplied her with examples of conversations she had with friends who no longer bothered to call, she realized the conversations she did participate in where usually lead by the other parties. Even with her children. Miranda always allowed them to lead, allowing herself to go with the flow.

Miranda began to question if three weeks had been too long. Andréa used to read her so well, anticipating her needs before they were spoken; if she had lost that ability, this phone call could end up being a huge mistake. Miranda did not want to be the one to bring up Paris, even if they did need to talk about it. She wanted this first conversation to be pleasant and non-confrontational. Miranda was no longer angry, so she had not blacklisted Andréa. Miranda had also written the girl a letter of recommendation. Andréa was smart enough to see those gestures for what they were; proof of forgiveness. This phone call could speak loudly on it's own, if Andréa was willing to listen. It would be nothing more than the truth; that Miranda needed her.

Miranda picked up her cell phone and hit send before her pride could change her mind. She checked the clock. It was 10am on a Saturday. Hopefully, the girl would be home. Hopefully she would answer. Miranda fought the plebeian desire to cross her fingers.

It took three rings for Andréa to answer the phone. "Hello." When there was no response in the customary four seconds, she spoke again. "Hello?"

"Andréa." Miranda's heart had been racing since she hit send, it did not slow down. She was slightly surprised by the flatness, the defense in her voice and the butterflies in her stomach.

"Miranda." The smile on Andréa's face was audible and the turning of Miranda's stomach stopped.

"Is everything okay?" Smile still in place, yet overshadowed by her concern.

Miranda rolled her eyes, releasing any tension left in her body. Andréa still cared, but Miranda needed her to understand, quickly and completely, why this phone call was taking place. She said the only thing she thought could convey all of it. "Is it so impossible to believe I am calling solely to hear your voice?" Miranda's voice was as unguarded as she was that night in Paris.

She was not prepared for the quiet laughter that floated across the line or how she reacted to it.

"No. It's not impossible at all. Actually, I'm glad you did." There was a moment of silence, as if Andréa was trying to figure out what to say next. "I got a new job," she finally said, her voice slightly tentative. "I know it's still early, but I really think I'm going to like it."

Miranda sank into her chair as her being settled into the calm Andréa had always wrapped her in. As she listened she finally accepted Andréa's power to make her feel safe and warm. That Andréa still felt like home.

THE END


End file.
